{ This is kind of embarrassing... }

You know how some people have a fear of flying? Or a fear of spiders? Or heights, or snakes, or hospitals? Today, in the span of 45 minutes, I both realized the existence of and faced a fear of this magnitude. I'm even going to publicly humiliate myself by writing about it on my {public} blog and then publishing it on the world wide web! I must be a glutton for punishment, mustn't I?

Remember my loving letter of chastisement to Pioneer Woman? And how I've had to start exercising {in the comfort of my own living room} as a result of consuming meals constructed from her calorie-laden recipes? Well, in addition to packing on some extra weight, apparently I have also gotten old. Not only does my workout DVD kick my butt, it also kills my knees. For a few days I was actually baffled by my knees hurting: "What on earth has happened?" Slowly it dawned on me that perhaps jumping jacks and lunges and the other hairbrained antics that are supposed to melt fat off my body are also apparently grinding the cartilage from my kneecaps. When did this happen, people?! Seriously! I have no idea when I went from being a dewy young bride to...to...this. Decrepit. Slayed by a 25-minute workout DVD. Dude, this is not okay. Weight, I can deal with. Crumbling joints when I'm not yet 30, no way!

At Husband's suggestion, I decided to use the tiny gym at our condo complex. Per Husband, who actually uses the facility, there is an elliptical machine, which is a lovely contraption for those among us with knee complaints. {I'm complaining, all right!} I was going to go this morning, but successfully convinced myself that staying in bed was a much safer option than venturing out in the pre-dawn chill and possibly injuring myself further. Hypothermia was one concern that kept me safely beneath our down comforter. I'll go when I get home from work, I smiled to myself.

As soon as I got in my car to go home this evening, it hit me: I am afraid of gyms. The way "normal" people are afraid of heights or flying or MRI machines. I am horrified by the thought of sweating and gasping and exerting myself in front of other people. I'm downright opposed to it. Frantically I called Husband; we'd barely exchanged pleasantries before I blurted, "I'm afraid of the gym the way people are afraid of flying!"

Bless his heart, he tried not to laugh.

I decided distracting myself was my best option. I changed to workout clothes as soon as I got home, and as I walked to the gym, I composed a very long text message to husband so I didn't have to look up and see people and...you know...be afraid in public. Or something. And it wasn't that bad. There were a total of two other people there, and they both ignored me as completely as I ignored them.

Interestingly, I found another reason to avoid gyms like the plague: Television, especially one that you cannot turn off or mute. I had envisioned spending a breathless, sweaty 25 minutes on the elliptical machine, having a lovely time of prayer to somewhat redeem the indignity of the situation. Instead I learned all about three murders {two of them teenagers}, a suicide {another teenager}, an Amber Alert, tax increases, and new Facebook privacy concerns.

I hope my knees decide they're 27 instead of 72 real, real soon.